Letter From The Desert: Time, Dissipation, and Facebook

This week marks four years I've lived in this little house. I guess I really should unpack.

Raven sits atop a chimney, making odd strangled noises in the rain. Is it misery? Or joy? Hard to tell. It’s cold at the beginning of May. This is the rain that hits every year about this time, and every year we call it “unseasonable.”

Ocotillo leaves inhale de…